


Something Like a Home

by rivlee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1436866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve can't stay in his apartment. Spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Like a Home

There were still bloodstains on Steve’s floor when he left the hospital. Even though he _knew_ Nick Fury lived and breathed, it turned Steve’s stomach to see them there on the floor, the chair, and the base of his record player. There was broken glass on his bookshelf, an empty glass still on his kitchen counter, and shards of two different lifetimes and far too many memories all over the place. He’d left New York to get away from public scrutiny and instead had S.H.I.E.L.D all over his private life. He had no clue where all the bugs where, who _really_ put them there, and who was still listening. He couldn’t think about the fact that Bucky had crouched for hours on a rooftop not far from where he stood and waited to take the shot.

He still didn’t know why Bucky—or rather the Winter Soldier—hadn’t gone for the head or the heart. That’s what a sniper would do if a target needed to go down, and that’s what Bucky _did_ in his time with the Howling Commandos. Maybe Pierce wanted to give Fury a fighting chance in the end.

Steve rubbed his forehead and took a moment to clear his head. He needed to get the hell away from here; pack a bag, grab a sketchpad, and start over again. Everything in here was just _stuff_. There were much more valuable things to him than the books, clothes, and records he’d managed to gather over the past two years. 

This apartment had never really been home and now it felt more like a cell. He had better places to be anyway.

 

Sam Wilson’s couch wasn’t as hard as the frozen ground in the Alps, but it wasn’t a marshmallow either. It did have one of the best views in the world though. Steve watched as Sam danced around the kitchen in low-slung sweats singing along to The Temptations, spatula in place of a microphone. Sam had talked to Steve about his favorite music all through the night, voice finally giving out after three hours of playing The Temptations, Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin, and Donny Hathaway into the wee hours of the morning. Steve had gone to sleep with the lyrics of _A Song For You_ rumbling through his mind.

Now the living room was bathed in warm sunlight of mid-day and Steve felt like he could breathe here, relax, and let Sam take watch for a bit while Steve finally gave into the need to sleep. He’d woken up to the soft sounds of Sam talking to the birds outside his window, poking bits of bread crust crumbs through the cracks in the screen. The house smelled of melted butter and batter now as Sam cooked, swinging his ass in perfect time to _Ain’t Too Proud to Beg_. Steve sat up to get a better look. 

He always had a thing for the competent type. Man or woman, pinned curls and red-lined lips or scratchy jaw and gun calluses, he’d found them all beautiful. Sam was his own work of art, with a body formed by years of training and hours of exercise, still in fighting shape just in case the call came again. He handled everyone with an ease that Steve envied. 

“I appreciate breakfast and a show,” Steve said.

Sam kept dancing along to the music. “Who said any of this was for you?”

Steve frowned. “But Sam, my apartment still looks like a crime scene and I just got out of the hospital. Haven’t I earned it?”

“Are you pouting?” Sam asked. “I don’t think Captain America is allowed to pout.” 

Steve smiled at Sam’s joke and reminded himself to send a text to Tony later. He’d appreciate that one. Hell, he’d appreciate _Sam_ in general. Tony had already called once, congratulating him on not dying again, taking down a government agency, and asking about Sam’s flight pack. Steve was holding out on any tech questions until Pepper or Rhodey called. They’d be the easier to deal with and Sam would adore them both, Steve was sure.

“Sorry, you’ve only got Steve Rogers here,” he said. “Captain America’s still off-duty.”

The music switched over to something more up-tempo and modern with a man claiming _y’all going to make me lose my mind up in here_. 

Sam brought over two plates before going back for two glasses. “If you don’t move over, I will sit on you.”

Steve looked down at his lap, then at Sam, and shrugged. “Pretty sure you’d fit.” He moved anyway since Sam could very well hold his next home-cooked meal hostage. 

“Yeah, but would your brainwashed assassin boyfriend shoot at me from behind the flower box in Mrs. Robinson’s back yard? You’re hot, Rogers, but I’ve got to make a risk vs. reward judgment here.”

“I’ve been told I’m worth it,” Steve said as he dug into his waffles and bacon. 

“From the brainwashed assassin boyfriend?” Sam asked.

Steve shook his head. “Some sailor down at the docks before he went off to war. Granted, I was about ¾ of the size I am now, but he found me good enough for the night. Bucky…we never got there. I don’t know if that would’ve changed if we’d both made it to V-E Day, and I haven’t spent my time out of the ice worried about cheating on the possibility of a past. He’s always going to be the other part of me regardless, but I’m not going to turn away anyone else I want for what _might_ happen.”

“You love a ghost and a memory, but you’re not still in love with him?” 

Steve took a sip of his coffee before answering. “I think I need to know him again before I make that call. I’ll never not love him, but I’ve also never seen the need to love just one single person at a time. I’ll always love Peggy, too. She’s my best girl.”

“And Natasha?”

Steve felt something warm in his chest as he thought of Natasha’s small and hard-won true smiles. “She’s my sister.”

“Your kissing sister,” Sam said. 

“Just the once,” Steve said. “She has someone else, I think. It’s complicated. Sorry to break your heart.”

“Oh, I’m not heartbroken over her,” Sam said. “I’m just wondering if you’re here to get laid because we’ve both just been through some pretty traumatic shit, of if you’re here for something more. There’s not a wrong answer to the question, just so you know. I just need to know the guidelines beforehand.”

 

Steve put his empty plate to the side and thought about the best way to answer. He had his reasons for coming here, and not just because it wasn’t Avengers Tower or his apartment or whatever safe house Natasha claimed was her current residence. 

“I came here because I went back to my apartment and all I could think of was blood and broken glass and betrayed trust. I came here because this place feels safe. _You_ feel safe—stable even. I’m not used to that Sam. It’s an amazing thing to see, honestly.” He gestured to the room around them, filled with pictures and knickknacks and a whole life. “This is your _home_. You’ve made it this far on your own determination, on your own work. I admire that in ways you probably can’t ever understand and I’ll never be able to explain.”

“It’s not like I didn’t have help along the way,” Sam said. “I mean, I’m good, Steve, no denying that, but I wasn’t alone.”

“For years _all_ I had was Bucky,” Steve said. “I’m still trying to adjust to that, you know.”

“It’s only been two-three years for you, really,” Sam said. “And here we are making movies and shit about it. I mean, you had _Casablanca_ in your time, but hell, we have monuments to your sacrifice and talking about the legacy of a war you’re still living. I actually get that Hollywood treatment part, but I’ve had a life before and beyond it.” Sam cupped Steve’s cheek, fingers gentle. “Fuck, you’re really still so young, aren’t you?”

“Younger than you if we’re not counting my frozen years,” Steve admitted. 

“Trying to make me feel like a dirty old man, Steve? You could’ve hit on my grandpa.”

“If he smiled like you? Probably, yeah. He wasn’t named Gabe by any chance, was he?”

“You’re fucked up,” Sam said, but he was laughing and leaning in close. “Figured out what you want yet?”

“Pretty certain it’s you.”

“Well, damn son. Look he’s trying to be all smooth. You going to soldier up there, Rogers?”

“I feel like I’m supposed to ask you out on a date first,” Steve said.

“Steve, nothing says romance like bringing down three helicarriers, a shadowy government agency, and saving the lives of millions of people. I think we’re beyond a cup of coffee and a three-date rule.”

“Not to mention the sleeping by my hospital bed.” There weren’t that many people left in the world who tried to watch over Steve. It meant a lot for Sam to allow him the chance to stand down.

“Someone’s got to watch your back.”

The music finally cut off and the room went silent as Steve watched Sam watch him. He smiled wide, resting his hands on the back of Sam’s neck as he pulled him close. Sam tasted like salty butter and sweet syrup, and he cursed Steve out under his breath when pulled into his lap.

“Told ya you’d fit.”

“You’re a jackass.” Sam grinned and gripped the back of Steve’s head, fingers tangling in the short strands of his hair. “I like it on you.”

“I come by it honestly,” Steve said as he slipped his hands down Sam’s back and watched the heat flare in his eyes. “Always had the kind of mouth that got me into all kinds of trouble.”

Sam’s body shook with laughter, muscles shifting under Steve’s hands and making his heart race. “I knew you were nothing but trouble, Rogers. Good thing I like having that sort of problem.”


End file.
